Hunting High and Low
by Savva
Summary: It was the night before Christmas. The air was silent and chill... Romance/Angst. Draco/Hermione.


**All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement intended.**

 **Huge thank you to my wonderful beta - amylouise**

 **and to mods.**

 **Prompt:/b sledding**

 **Hunting High and Low**

Through the dark

I sense the pounding of her heart

Next to mine

She's the sweetest love I could find

So I guess I'll be hunting high and low…

(A-HA/Hunting High and Low)

It was the night before Christmas. The air was silent and chill, and Draco was cold … impossibly cold. The frost was nibbling at his nose and cheeks, and it didn't feel right. Curious, he opened his eyes. White brightness blinded him, and he instantly shut them again. He hadn't expected it to be so bright. Although he couldn't immediately pinpoint why, he was certain that something was terribly wrong.

For a while, he didn't move, hoping that everything would return to the way it wassupposed to be on the night before Christmas. Alas, minutes went by, his feet began to burn, and he could feel the dreadful brightness even with his eyes closed. Finally, when something icy and wet touched his face, his eyes flew open in surprise, and another snowflake landed on his nose. Bewildered, he swivelled around and found himself standing in the middle of a snow-covered field, wearing only his lounge trousers and a gauze tunic.

It was surreal.

What the hell?, he thought, blinking in confusion. He couldn't believe what he was seeing and was ready to dismiss it as a dream, but his bare feet were already turning red and blue, proving that it was indeed a reality. He did pinch himself a few times just to make sure, but nothing changed.

How had he ended up here? The last he remembered, he was in his bed, with his wife's soft **,** warm body curled next to him, and her heart pounding steadily against his palm. Where had it all gone?

Wrapping his arms around himself and trying his best not to shiver in the December chill, he stared at the landscape. Perhaps, if it hadn't been so agonisingly cold, he would have thought it beautiful. The sun was bright. Millions of fluffy snowflakes spun and sparkled like little stars as they slowly cocooned the ground in their opulent blanket of white. As it was, however, all that beauty didn't touch him. He was too cold to admire anything, and his only thought was to find the way home, where the fireplace glowed with warmth, rooms smelled of cinnamon and gingerbread, and the love of his life was waiting for him. He needed to find his way to her, and the sooner the better. He felt as if his life depended on it.

It took him a long time to decide which direction to take, but eventually he thought that he saw the Manor silhouetted in the distance, and he began his journey. As he slowly crept through the frozen wonderland, the snow covered his long, fair hair, which glistened and sparkled in the rays of the setting sun. He didn't notice, of course, since he was growing colder and colder, and his toes and fingers were turning numb. The snow began to fall so thickly that he couldn't see where he was going. The wind became stronger, howling in his ears and throwing handfuls of snow into his face. Clenching his teeth, he kept moving forward, determined to find his way back to the Manor, back to her.

He walked, and walked, and walked. His feet turned leaden, and it seemed to him that many hours had passed. The sun was long gone beyond the horizon, but he still wasn't anywhere near his destination, and he felt so dreadfully exhausted, he wasn't sure that he would ever be able to reach it. The air was becoming frostier with every minute, and the darkness brought doubts flooding into his mind. Half-frozen and desperate, he allowed his muddled brain to question everything: reality, dreams, and his sanity. What if his happily ever after was only a figment of his imagination? What if he had never had her? What if she had never forgiven him, never fallen in love with him, never become his? Maybe he was still in Azkaban, lying on an icy stone bench. Maybe he was dying, and his life with Hermione was just a hallucination produced by his fading mind. Maybe he would never see her again. Never.

That last thought pierced his heart with such excruciating intensity that he shouted, "No!" As if in response, he heard the old door creaking, and not very far from him appeared a band of light. It was she; he could tell by the silhouette. She stood on the threshold and called to him, "Draco! Draco!"

Oh, how he wanted her to hear him as he cried, "Hermione!" Alas, a sudden gust of wind blotted out his call. He shouted again, "Hermione! Hermione!" but no sound came out of his mouth. He tried to run towards her, but the snowdrift was too deep, and he became stuck after only a few steps. In horror, he watched her turn around, step inside, and close the door, leaving him alone in that frozen darkness. Defeated, he dropped his face into his hands and wept.

He was so close … so very, very close. He could even smell the smoke of the fireplace. But exhaustion claimed his body and mind, and he just couldn't make himself move again. He felt helpless. Hopeless. Done for.

"Hermione," he whispered. No one answered except the wind.

"HERMIONE!" he shouted in despair …

"Shh, Draco, shh." Two warm palms clasped his face, and soft lips placed a kiss on his forehead. He tore his eyes open, and there she was, hovering over him, her face concerned, her caramel-coloured eyes focused on him. "Did you have a nightmare again?" she said, gently smoothing his hair.

"No. I'm fine." He sighed and drew her to him, burrowing his nose in her fragrant, fluffy curls. The last thing he wanted right now was to discuss his stupid dream with her. He knew her only too well – she would go berserk with worry, and he couldn't have that.

"Merry Christmas," he murmured, thinking that it was truly merry. The bed was warm, the air smelled of cardamom and apples, and Hermione was right where she belonged, in his arms.

"Merry Christmas to you too." She kissed his nose, laughingly untangled herself from him, and got out of bed. "Oh, it's so beautiful outside!" she exclaimed, looking out the window. "It was snowing all night, and the grounds are covered with snow. Come on, let's go sledding."

Draco propped himself on his elbow and looked at her. "Sledding? You must be kidding. You are five months pregnant. No sledding for you, missy."

She pouted for a moment, and then, with a wicked smile, crept toward the bed. "Snowfight, then," she shouted, abruptly pulling the covers off him and running away.

"You're on, Granger!" He sprang up and sprinted after her.

"It's Malfoy, you dolt!" He heard her laughing somewhere in the Manor.

Malfoy … that's right, he thought. Thank Merlin, his happily ever after wasn't just a figment of his imagination after all, and that horrible snow-filled nightmare was just a dream.

Or was it?


End file.
